


Proposal

by BerityBaker



Series: Come What May [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I'm really bad at tags but just a warning, M/M, Valentine's Day, and only because they're doing the thing, even the smut itself is fluffy, it's really just lots of fluff, this barely qualifies as smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerityBaker/pseuds/BerityBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Valentine's Day, Sherlock and John exchange gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This has literally nothing to do with the apocalypse but the fact that I was thinking of it as how we got to that wedding reception in the first place. That's the only plot thing it serves, and the only reason it's in this series is that it's a part of the 'verse. I wrote this because I wanted to write some Valentine's Day Johnlock. I literally wrote it today, with no beta, and I don't really ever write smut. So sorry.

“What about this one?” The poor man behind the counter looked as though he wanted to cry.

“No, not unless you think ‘John’ is a feminine name.”

Sherlock knew John was a romantic. Since it was their first Valentine’s Day as a so-called “couple,” he knew that he would be coming home with some extravagant gift in hand, so he’d set out to find one to give in return. Sherlock squinted condescendingly at the watch in the man’s hands.

“Look, that’s the last of the watches. Perhaps something else, like maybe…cufflinks?”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Or not, or not!”

Sherlock glanced down the glass display case and spotted something silver. The attendant nearly killed himself trying to keep up with the detective as he ran toward it. “What’s this?”

“Oh, they’re new!” the attendant answered, clearly relieved and rejuvenated by the prospect of Sherlock having found something that piqued his interest. “Personalized dog tags. Lots of soldiers getting them for their partners. Have you served, sir?”

“No.”

The man’s face fell.

“I’ll take one.”

He perked right back up. “Really?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The man fumbled with keys, actually dropping them in his hurry to pull one of the silver tags from a drawer. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Here’s what I’d like it to say,” Sherlock said, scribbling on a scrap of paper and sliding it across the counter.

“Alright, thank you sir! Feel free to keep shopping while we engrave it for you.”

“I’ll just wait right here.”

The man’s smile froze. His eye twitched unpleasantly. “Are you sure? It’ll be a little while.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock answered, shaking his head dismissively and smiling a little at the man’s discomfort.

The attendant sighed in resignation.

+++

Sherlock unlocked the door and ascended the stairs to 221B slowly, gift in hand. John was home; he could hear him bustling around overhead, not to mention the light from inside seeping under the door. Sherlock placed his parcel securely inside his coat before entering.

“Hello—oh.” When he laid eyes on the sitting room, he had to take a step back. The soft light from John’s desk lamp was met with a warm glow that, he realized with a start, came from the fireplace. The floor was covered in spots of crimson, as though John had purposely placed each rose petal to look like a drop of blood.

“Sherlock!” John called from the kitchen before emerging with two glasses of champagne. He handed one over and pecked Sherlock on the cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love. Come on, sit with me.” He led him by the hand to the sofa.

“What is this, John?”

John’s cheeks went red. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”

Sherlock smiled. _Romantic_. “Everything is romantic with you.”

John raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Corpses?”

“Especially corpses.” Sherlock kissed the tip of John’s nose and pulled the gift out of his coat. It was wrapped in a very pale shade of pink that he’d chosen carefully, and he knew based on their previous experiences that John would take the hint.

He did; he kissed him deeply before tearing the paper away.

When John saw what was inside the box, his playful grin disappeared. He stared.

Sherlock began babbling madly. “It’s for you to add...to the others. I thought it was perfect, nothing else seemed good enough, but if you don’t like it we could always—”

John cut him off with another kiss. “I love it, Sherlock. Thank you.” He held the round silver piece up to the light and read the inscription aloud. “‘Two-two-one B.’” Then he smiled. “I’ve a gift for you, too.” He stood suddenly, leaving Sherlock to fall to the side where he’d been leaning into him.

When he came back from the kitchen, he was holding a very similar box and an envelope. He handed them to Sherlock. “Open. Box first.”

Sherlock laughed when he obeyed and saw just what he’d expected at first glance—a dog tag exactly like John’s, but with a chain. Instead of their address, however, it was engraved with the date _29-01-2010_ and both their initials.

“Now the letter,” John said. He was almost vibrating out of his skin as he knelt down in front of Sherlock and put his hands on the taller man’s knees.

Sherlock unfolded the letter and began to read.

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_I know you despise poetry and big romantic gestures. But as you tend to point out, I’m a romantic. We romantics romanticise things, holidays included. So a holiday about romance is a romantic’s weakness._

_I’m sure you may have deduced how fond I am of you. I let you drag me around the country chasing criminals, dress me up in ridiculous disguises, and participate in your experiments when you need a willing subject. Not to mention we have been shagging quite a lot._

_But fondness isn’t the right word. Especially if I’m going to romanticise how I feel about being with you. You’re brilliant and amazing and incredible and I would spend every minute watching that beautiful mind of yours work if I could. I love you. And I want to be able to love you forever._

_John_

When he finished, he looked up to see tears in John’s eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why—”

“Oh, marry me, you bloody idiot.”

Sherlock stared, speechless.

“Surely you saw that coming,” John laughed, drawing his sleeve across a watery eye.

“I…suppose so,” Sherlock stammered after a while.

“Of course you did.”

“No, I mean I…I suppose I’ll marry you.”

“What?”

Sherlock sighed in annoyance, the shock beginning to wear off.

“I know, I know, you don’t like repeating yourself. But…was that a yes?”

“Yes!” Sherlock replied tersely.

John leapt up into his lap and kissed him fiercely. Sherlock’s response was immediate; his hands found the small of John’s back and pulled him in firmly.

“Although if you ever use variations of the word ‘romantic’ so many times in one paragraph ever again, I’m leaving you.” He grinned impishly and took John’s bottom lip between his own, biting a bit. John giggled.

“No worries, love. We’ll keep the romance in practice from now on.”

“Oh, that’s not quite what I mean,” Sherlock growled, moving along John’s jaw to kiss the sensitive spot under his ear. “Romance can be just as great in theory.”

John shuddered at the sound of his voice. “And how’s that?”

“What happens when I whisper things in your ear, John?” He nipped at the earlobe. “What does it do to you when I tell you how much I want you to let me fuck you?” he breathed, his lips brushing the outer shell. “Doesn’t it feel great when I let you know just how much I need you?”

“I, _oh_ …yes, it does. _God_ , yes.”

“See? We haven’t even gotten to the practical bit of it yet.” As if to drive the point home, Sherlock squeezed where his hands had drifted down to John’s arse and pulled him closer. They groaned in unison.

“Sherlock,” John whispered breathlessly against the other man’s temple. “Can we please move this to the bed so that my knees don’t get stiff?”

Sherlock clambered up from the couch, nearly knocking John to the floor before taking his hand and practically dragging him in the direction of their bedroom. He didn’t even bother shutting the door before throwing John onto the bed and tugging at his jumper, trying to pull it over his head.

John pushed him away gently and laughed. “Calm down, Sherlock, you depraved git. Can’t we make this last?”

At first, Sherlock huffed in disappointment. Then his face broke into an evil smirk. “Fine. You want to make it last?”

“Now Sherlock—”

“Oh, don’t worry, John. I’ll make it last.” Instead of reaching for the hem of the jumper that was up around John’s chest, Sherlock went for his own trousers. He unzipped and slid them down his thighs slowly, taking great care to make sure John had an unobstructed view of the long, thin erection tenting the fabric of his pants.

“You bloody tease,” John murmured, and when Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, “I know, I know, I asked for it.”

“Right,” Sherlock said with a nod and a smile. He toed off his shoes and managed to pull his socks off with the trousers.

John looked at him quizzically. “Coat?”

Sherlock glanced at it, then back at John. He nodded. “Coat.”

John visibly shivered as Sherlock whipped off his scarf and tossed it to the floor. “Sherlock, please, can we just—”

He cut himself off with a groan when Sherlock straddled his thighs and gave his crotch a light squeeze.

Sherlock was starting to lose himself. He’d all but abandoned the teasing and was tugging at the jumper again while unbuttoning John’s jeans. He let his fingertips linger under the waistband before dragging them down, bringing clothing and feather-light kisses in their wake. Pants followed, and John gasped as Sherlock drew a long finger along the underside of his shaft. “Sher— _oh_. Sherlock, come on, let’s go.”

John made to reach for the bedside drawer, but Sherlock slapped his hand away and pulled out the little tube himself.

Sherlock would have thought previously that preparation would have been exceedingly boring. It was one reason why, even for months after they’d established a romantic relationship, they still hadn’t been as intimate as they would have been if John had had his way. Sherlock had thought the process would be tedious. He reminded himself every time, as he did in this particular moment, watching John’s cheeks flush deeper and his chest heave as he added another finger, and then another, that he had never been more wrong about anything in his entire life.

“Sherlock, please,” John moaned, something Sherlock always took as the signal. He was soon slowly sinking into him. John gripped his shoulders tightly and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him in further.

As much as Sherlock loved being quick and rough, tonight wasn’t the night for it. He made his way with slow, languid thrusts and kisses to John’s cheeks and small groans which held in them more lust for the man himself than the generic, carnal sort of desire that came with intercourse.

He leaned down for another kiss.

“I love you,” John murmured against his lips.

“I’m glad I’m marrying you,” Sherlock replied.

“I’m glad you’re marrying me, too.”

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to be going backward with this fic. Every time I add more, it takes place before the last. Hopefully that'll change. 'Til then, lovelies.


End file.
